The painted paradise of viridian 

w
a
t
e
r
   f
   a
   l
   l
   s

is a flat intimation 
of rushing din to drown 
out the Giver’s frantic thoughts. 

I care 
too much, too often, 
in place of the others. 
I’ve lost my sense of self 
and hate the world for it. 
Someone give me permission to 
let go, 
let me jump in… 

She pretends 
she is an iron automaton 
housing a clockwork heart. 

Rust accumulates 
at the pace of a snail. 
In this utopia, she is not 
expected 
to move much faster. 

She transforms 
blood to moss, breath to steam. 

Nature overgrown — 
finally — 
and phones, cars, hospitals, drugs 
are fossilized trash bags 
crushed so deep in the crust 
they’re melting in the mantle. 

Gold winner of this contest: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2830813-National-Poetry-Month-April-10th-noguest